crawlspace

it yawns open, like a wound.

i squirm in, wormlike, bombarded by the sickly-sweet stench of death and stale earth.

across sewer pipes and sharp rocks, to the water leak that needs fixing. the dim flashlight makes this womb feel like a cave, a secret hiding hole into which i bury myself with my feelings of inadequacy and sadness.

three more trips are made before the proper tools for the job are amassed. on the 2nd trip out, i discover the recently deceased body of a mouse, who has chosen my particular path of attack as his final resting place. in the poorly-lit netherworld, i have crawled across him at least twice, and when i leave my dungeon to venture out to lowe's, i will drag with me the reek of decaying flesh and emptiness.

the job is done. my fingers are cut, my shoulders feel like spaghetti that someone has thrust a fork into and twisted tight. i am covered in dust, cobwebs, and despair.

i burst forth into the light of the sun, pink flowers, chirping birds. i almost wish to return to the crawlspace, feeling like the spring day is a lie that ignores the way i feel.

darth sardonic